Venial Sin
by volley
Summary: In which our Chief Engineer needs a hand to get out of trouble
1. Chapter 1

A story for "Get Trip Into Trouble" month - Hope you'll enjoy and review.

Grateful thanks to my beta reader, RoaringMice

§ 1 §

"I _what_, Sir?"

Archer's nonchalant tone made the proposition sound more outlandish than it might otherwise have been. Malcolm crossed his arms over his chest and turned narrowed eyes away, to a nondescript spot on the deck-plating, feeling his irritation swell. It didn't help that he had been summoned to the ready room before his alarm clock, and had had to rush through his customary morning rituals.

"With all due respect, Captain, it's not ethical."

"I know, Malcolm. I don't like it any more than you do; but I already tried all other options, and if we don't do something..."

* * *

As he re-materialised inside the dark structure, Malcolm was still silently cursing the blue streak he had begun on the transporter pad. No, in the Armoury. Actually, in the ready room. For a moment, as feeling returned to his limbs, he wondered if this was a verified fact: if Starfleet was aware that being transported didn't interrupt your – uhm – mental processes. Better not ask them: he doubted they'd be interested in learning what _mental processes_ had _not_ been interrupted.

Darkness surrounded him, but he had come prepared: the moment he switched on his torch a maze of corridors came into view, which triggered another silent but colourful expression. A labyrinth wasn't a good start, even though he more or less knew in which direction to look for the wayward member of their crew.

Mindful of any little noise, he scanned his surroundings with his eyes. The silence was complete. Only his heartbeat drummed in his ears. Not that he disliked a bit of adrenaline doing the rounds in his bloodstream, mind you. A few times the daring man in him had suggested, in the quiet of 'their' conscience, that the occasional brush with danger was a part of his profession he couldn't do without. It was the _why_, here, which irritated him. One just didn't --

The squeak of a heavy door being opened – or closed – prompted him to flatten against the wall and turn off the torch.

These wrinkled-faced people were an odd species. Candians had things like warp drive and phase weapons, but in other respects had remained surprisingly primitive, from a technological point of view. It was – Malcolm understood – a choice of life. Oh – and they didn't have the electric bulb. They simply had no need for it: according to the Vulcan database, they had eyesight that allowed them to see even in darkness. Lucky them. Think of the saving. Too bad it made things slightly more complicated for him. At least this planet's moon was quite bright, and some of its yellowish light was filtering through a high window somewhere down one of the corridors.

The sound of soft steps. They seemed to be coming his way. Malcolm tried the handle of the nearest door. Locked. Fortune may be blind, but one could always count on Bad-luck having perfect eyesight. Oh, well. Time to give this someone an unexpected welcome.

Flattening in the recess of the door, Malcolm focused on his hearing, timing his attack on the sound of the approaching steps. They were very light, almost as if the Candian were planning the same little surprise on him. Brilliant. Briefest stealth mission in history.

Suddenly the steps stopped, and for a moment there was total silence. Malcolm held his breath. By now his eyes had got somewhat accustomed to the darkness and he could make out shades and outlines. Better than nothing.

The soft shuffling resumed. Closer. And closer. Malcolm could swear the man was no more than a couple of metres away now. He could almost hear his breathing – or was that his imagination? Carefully, he leaned out and cast a quick glance: yes, a dark figure was sliding along the wall, undoubtedly closing in on him …

_Now, Lieutenant_.

Punch in the gut, arm twisted behind the man's back; it looked like a straightforward job, but the person dug his free elbow back with force, and it connected with Malcolm's stomach, making him grunt and lose his grip.

"Take that, ya damn shrivelled face!" the _enemy_ choked out, in perfect Floridian accent.

_Bloody..._

Cursing against the pain in his stomach, Malcolm managed to lock Trip in a secure grip and wrap an arm over his mouth. "Quiet!" he choked out in his ear. "It's me." He felt the Engineer relax, and gradually released him.

"Malcolm? What the hell..."

Malcolm pulled him into the recess. "I'm here to get you out," he said in a low voice. As he switched the torch back on, he added in a grunt, massaging his stomach, "Nice welcome."

"You're the one who jumped _me_," Trip complained, rubbing the shoulder of the arm Malcolm had twisted. "Besides, I'm already _out_. Pickin' locks is my second nature."

"Yeah, your first one is getting into trouble," Malcolm said deadpan. "But I don't want to discuss that," he quickly added. "At least not right now. Right now my orders are to get you out and retrieve the Shuttlepod."

Trip smirked. "Can't we just transport out and be gone? I'm kinda tired of this place."

"You'll transport out, and I'll get the Shuttlepod back," Malcolm decided, casting a glance along the corridor. "Captain Archer was very clear. The pod is not to be left behind."

"No way. If that's the Capt'n's order, we'll carry it out together."

"Look, Trip--"

"Besides, I know where to find it."

"I know too; I scanned the place from Enterprise."

There was a beat of silence. Trip's eyes left Malcolm's and tracked down, to his chin.

"I know something that you don't."

"What?"

"I'll tell you later."

A challenging smile split the Engineer's face in two.

"Follow me, Lieutenant."

* * *

Picking locks _was_ Trip's second nature. Malcolm watched him make a fast job of a couple of them as they proceeded towards the outside of the detention wing of the military compound.

"If they ever dismiss you from Starfleet, you can make a career as a burglar," Malcolm commented under his breath.

"If they ever dismiss you from Starfleet, you can make a career as a covert agent," Trip retorted with a low chuckle.

Trip would probably never know how close to the mark he'd come. "What kind of prison is this?" Malcolm wondered, chasing away thoughts of Section 31. "No guards?" They had been working peacefully for twenty minutes now. It was disgraceful that no one should be around to stop their escape. Sloppy safety measures always outraged him, even when they worked in his favour.

"I knocked out and gagged the only guard I saw. You should've seen me in action, Lieutenant: would've been quite proud of me." Trip tilted his head, the better to study the job at hand. "They don't need many guards," he went on, as he worked. "Apparently they have very little crime. Last inmate before me, if I got it right, was a Tellarite who had insulted the General, six months ago."

"Shame on you, Commander; as bad as one of those grouches."

Malcolm was beginning to enjoy this. Easy job – at least for the moment – so plenty of opportunities to do a bit of ribbing.

"That's not what worries me," Trip retorted. "What worries me is that inmates don't last very long in this place, they're gotten rid of pretty fast."

Malcolm was about to comment, when voices were heard approaching. He touched Trip's arm and they both got up and looked for a place to hide.

"And in a rather barbarous way," Trip continued in a tense whisper, over Malcolm's right shoulder. "You won't let me end up disembowelled, will ya?"

"Not if I can help it," Malcolm whispered back. "But that's only because the Captain ordered me," he slipped in as he pulled Trip behind a large cabinet.

They held their breath. Three different voices could be detected. One was high pitched, a woman's. Two were deeper and male. Malcolm reached into a pocked and retrieved the UT. Hoshi had programmed it to pick up the Candian language.

"The Captain of the Human ship was mad as anything," one of the deep voices said, almost in amusement. "But in the end he had to accept our laws. The prisoner will be executed tomorrow."

"I have filed a formal petition with the General," the woman said. "He'll listen to me!"

"Don't count on it. The General can't change the law," the third voice commented. "Especially not for you."

They stopped by the door Trip had just opened. Malcolm felt a knot of tension in his gut.

A snort introduced the next words. "Why are you so worried about that Human? You fell under the spell of his blue eyes?"

"Don't you dare! Remember whom you're speaking to," the female voice retorted.

Laughter met her outburst. "What are you going to do about it? File another formal petition?"

"Hey, someone left the door open here," the first voice said.

"It must have been that young recruit. Youngsters!" the second man spat out. "Lucky we found out: your handsome alien might have escaped."

Laughter covered the woman's reply. Then the three went through, the door was locked again, and they continued along the corridor, their voices fading.

Malcolm turned to shoot Trip a deadpan look.

"I didn't think I'd get... I mean, come on, Malcolm: what would you have done?" the man argued.

"Definitely not what you did." Malcolm heaved a sigh. "Let's find that pod."

* * *

TBC


	2. Chapter 2

Thank you all for your reviews.

§ 2 §

The compound's yard was large. There were military trucks and aircrafts neatly parked, and Malcolm wondered if Candians were so disciplined because of their military government, or if their military government was a natural consequence of their disciplined nature.

"Can you see it?" Trip whispered, joining him in a crouch behind a low wall.

The moon was out and, from what Malcolm could see, there was a lot more movement outside than inside. Small, hovering vehicles were darting about, and some personnel were busy servicing a craft in a section of the yard.

Malcolm pulled Trip down even lower with a heavy hand on his shoulder. "Don't forget that these people don't need a spotlight to see us," he warned. Peeking cautiously over the edge, he muttered, "Let me get my bearings... The pod was parked in the north-east section."

Trip's head came up beside him. "Dammit, there's a lot of traffic out here."

"Right... We'll have to be very careful," Malcolm said pensively, studying the situation. _And rely on a good dose of luck_ – he thought.

There was a low tower on the left side, probably manned; and a squadron marching below it. A strange hour to do exercises. On the right... Malcolm scanned the place with his eyes. As far as he could see, the right side seemed clearer. It was crowded with parked vehicles, which would provide good cover.

"Let's try and reach those crafts over there," Malcolm said, jerking his chin in the right direction. "We'll go together," he instructed.

"Aye, aye, Sir."

Ignoring the gibe, Malcolm cast a last look around.

"Now!"

They took off at a low run and crossed a section of yard, sliding to a halt behind a sleek, low vessel. His back to the cold metal of its hull, Malcolm counted to ten, crossing his fingers that no alarm would sound. It seemed they were okay.

A couple of 'legs' later they stopped, shoulder to shoulder, flat against a parked hovercraft.

Trip let out a slow breath. "So far so good."

"You said that once already," Malcolm quietly muttered.

"I did?"

"Indeed."

Trip's eyebrows, which had plunged in a puzzled frown, soared up with realisation. "Oh, you mean _that_ time."

It had been not long into that damn reception. With his remarkable, albeit usual, disregard of the most basic rules of caution, Archer had insisted in taking the entire senior staff to the dinner the Candian General had organised for them, parrying off with infuriating serenity every bloody objection Malcolm had come up with. Needless to say, once on the planet Malcolm had been a bundle of nerves. Trip, of course, had noticed, and had taken the first opportunity to tease him, using those very words.

"Come on, Malcolm," Trip complained, bringing him back to reality. "Things would have been fine, if it weren't for--"

"A certain Engineer who cannot keep out of trouble, especially whenever there is a lady around," Malcolm finished for him.

He quickly raised a hand to stifle Trip's reply. A group of soldiers had suddenly rounded a corner, marching crisply after their Commander. They crossed the yard in diagonal, their steps drumming the asphalt. A few moments later they had disappeared inside a wing of the compound.

"I only did what any gentleman would have," Trip said, the moment the danger had passed.

Malcolm turned to shoot him a look. "You'll have to restrain your romantic nature a bit more, Commander, or next time I won't bother coming to the rescue."

"It's envy speakin'."

_Envy!_ Malcolm bit his lip. It wasn't the time for this conversation. "Next stretch," he instructed, pointing to a large truck. "It's more exposed, but there is nothing we can do. We'd better go one at a time. You first."

Trip nodded. With a last look around, he took off. Malcolm watched him reach his destination and prepared to do the same.

He had taken but a couple of steps out of cover when a soldier jumped out from behind a nearby aircraft, phase pistol levelled at him.

"Hold it," he ordered.

Malcolm froze, resisting the urge to let his gaze stray to Trip.

"I thought I had seen movement… What are you doing here, Human? Are you alone?"

When no answer came, the man grabbed Malcolm roughly by one arm. "Come with me," he said, dragging him back towards the door of the detention centre.

Well, there was only one choice, really. With a quick decision, Malcolm twisted and spun, and a moment later he was the one holding his own pistol to the Candian's back. Handy, that move T'Pol had taught him. He must make it a point to learn more about Vulcan martial arts.

"_You_ come with _me_," he hissed, as he inverted direction again, walking closely beside the man so as to try and avoid detection. "And without a sound."

"Hell," Trip let out under his breath, once they had joined him safely behind the truck. "We can't bring him with us."

If there was something Malcolm hated, was when someone stated the obvious. "I'm aware of that, Commander," he bit back. "I hope that doesn't mean you'd rather I had gone along with him peacefully."

"Yeah, why not," Trip retorted sarcastically.

A soft snort drew their attention. Their prisoner seemed a bit too relaxed. "You'll never get out of here alive," he said.

"Shut up," Malcolm snapped.

With a sudden movement, the soldier raised a hand to the neck of his uniform. Trip grabbed his wrist, but a loud siren was already going off, ruthlessly tearing the silence. The man released the alarm device he had pressed, and a smug smile appeared on his lips. "You might as well surrender," he said.

"Great!" Trip's eyes grew full of apprehension. "Death by disembowelment isn't fun, Lieutenant."

"You don't say."

"And I don't mean to scare you, but I think you'd come to the same end."

"Remind me to schedule our next hand-to-hand practice session, as soon as we get back," Malcolm growled, eyes never leaving the Candian he had at gunpoint. "Sorry," he told him. Then he pressed the trigger and watched the man collapse to the floor. "No use being stealthy now," he urged. "This way!"

"Wait!"

Trip jerked a thumb in the opposite direction. "I think it's that way."

"Are you sure?"

"Not really."

"I thought you said you knew where the pod was," Malcolm complained. He also hated indecision, even more so as it might lead them to an untimely and rather crude demise.

"And I thought you said you had scanned the place," Trip retorted.

The door of the detention wing was flung open and five armed men ran out. One of them gestured an order, and the men fanned out.

Reeds had always had good sense of direction; it couldn't fail him now. "Let's go!" Malcolm urged, taking off.

They zigzagged through a long row of smaller planes, keeping low.

Suddenly, with the same shocking abruptness with which it had come on, the alarm was cut off. They could now hear muffled orders and the sounds of people running.

Malcolm raised a cautioning hand, pulling in a crouch behind yet another craft. "I think I've heard a noise," he whispered.

He had barely finished saying that that a figure was upon them, so quickly that, swivelling to face the sudden threat, Malcolm lost his balance and crashed back against the vehicle, his aim thrown off.

"Commander Tucker…"

"Doiné?"

Malcolm could not believe his ears. "Bloody hell! Trip, we have no time for this!"

To his credit, the Engineer didn't show much enthusiasm at the encounter.

"What are you doin' here?" Trip asked the girl, pulling her slim persona to the safety of their cover.

"I'm so sorry, I didn't want to get you into trouble," she said plaintively.

"Miss, I don't mean to sound uncouth," Malcolm butted in tautly. "But we are in a bit of a hurry. If they catch us, the General will use our skins as bedside rugs."

"I know," Doiné said contritely. "I _begged_ him to let him go, but he won't listen… I'm so sorry," she repeated, reaching to lean languidly with both arms on Trip's.

"It wasn't your fault," Trip said softly.

Oh, no. He was going to stop this before it began. Precious seconds were ticking by. "Let's go," Malcolm urged, grabbing Trip by a sleeve and pulling him away from the embrace. "Good-bye, Miss."

He made to set off at a run again, but had to draw back, and almost crashed into the Engineer, who was hard on his heels.

"Damn it!" Malcolm bit his lip. "They're here."

"I know how seriously you take your duty, Malcolm," Trip urged, "but I really think it's time we disobeyed that order and transported out."

"I doubt we can, now. Didn't you see that flicker before? The compound probably has some sort of shielding, and it was just activated."

"This way," Doiné whispered. "Follow me!" She pointed to a low structure nearby.

Malcolm threw her a diffident look. She was the source of their troubles; he didn't see why he should put their lives in her hands. "Where to?" he challenged. Their pod and safety were so bloody close... maybe they could just make a desperate run for it. On the other hand, he wasn't sure Candian weapons had a stun setting.

"Please, trust me," Doiné begged. "I grew up in this place; I know my way around it."

* * *

TBC

Always looking forward to your comments!

* * *


	3. Chapter 3

It's always great to read your comments! Thank you all.

§ 3 §

The door let them into what felt like a huge room. There wasn't enough light to see much, filtering through from the yard, but the way their steps sounded gave Malcolm the distinct impression that they were in a large place. As soon as the door closed behind them, it became nearly pitch dark.

"Hold it," he said, quickly putting a hand out to restrain Doiné who, with another terse 'follow me' and totally forgetful of their impaired vision, seemed determined to move off. "What is this place? Where are you taking us?"

"Can't see a thing in here," Trip muttered.

Reaching for his torch, Malcolm switched it on and moved it around: crates and racks loaded with boxes appeared.

"Storage room. Perfect for when you want to escape your father – as a child, I mean," the girl said with a nervous giggle. "There's nobody in here at this time. If we come out at the other end we should just about be at your shuttlepod."

The torch was casting Doiné in an eerie light, but her features were clearly visible for the first time. Malcolm had forgotten – or better pushed to the back of his mind – how beautiful the girl was. Definitely exotic, with those eyes ever so slightly slanted upwards and that pattern of tiny triangles gracing her delicate jaw line; even her species' distinctive feature, those ripples that made older individuals look like shrivelled apples, on her were strangely appealing. She was finely chiselled and attractive indeed, and in light of that fact, Malcolm had to admit that Trip's careless behaviour could almost be excused as a venial sin. Not that he was ever going to tell him that, mind you.

"If I were looking for us, I'd be waiting at the pod," Malcolm reasoned, forcing his gaze away from her. "I don't know how wise it is to go there, now."

"What other options do we have?" Trip wondered, hands on his hips. "I'd rather go down in the attempt to go up – you know," – he jerked his chin towards the ceiling – "than in a gory execution," he concluded, wincing.

Doiné turned to him. "If they're at the pod, I'll distract them."

Trip pulled his face in a lopsided smirk. "Yeah, you're good at that," he said.

Malcolm found the hint of amusement in his voice irritating. The girl was the reason their guts were probably going to string up whatever instruments they played on that sodding planet.

"But no, thanks. I wouldn't want you to get in trouble with the General," Trip added, more seriously.

Now that was too much. "Your chivalry is out of place, Commander," Malcolm said through gritted teeth, not caring if he sounded plain angry. He shifted the beam on Trip. "After all she is as responsible as you are for this mess."

"I made you more of a gentleman than that, Lieutenant," Trip attacked.

"Please, please!" Doiné looked beseechingly from one to the other. "Don't worry: I know how to mollify the General. I've had to do it enough times already."

Trip's eyes went wide, and Malcolm's outrage veered abruptly, locking onto another target. That changed things, of course.

"Bloody hell, I can't allow you to do _that_ in order to make us escape," he said, hand to his chin. There ought to be some other strategy they could try.

Doiné looked at him blankly. "Do what?"

"Pig," Trip spat out with hatred. "The General," he expounded to Malcolm, who had shot him a look. "I can't believe he'd take advantage of her. He could be her father, for heaven's sake!"

There was a beat of silence.

"Advan…" Doiné seemed unable to wrap her mind around the word, let alone the concept. "But he _is_ my father: didn't you know?"

"What?" Trip and Malcolm blurted out together. Their surprise must have painted an idiotic look on their faces, for Doiné hid a grin behind a hand.

"He wants me to call him General, because he treats everybody, even me, like a soldier," she explained, "but he's my father, and he'd never lay a hand on me. I am his pet."

Malcolm could relate to that. At least the first part.

"Then why couldn't you convince him to let me go?" Trip grumbled.

"Because you broke the law, if he changed it for me it would be--"

"I don't mean to interrupt," Malcolm butted in. "But as Captain Archer would say, time's a-wasting."

"This way," Doiné said, leading them along.

Just as he had expected, two soldiers were guarding the shuttlepod, while others were searching the area. Malcolm closed the crack he had opened in the door and smirked.

"Not good," he whispered. He switched on his torch and pointed it on Trip, adjusting his aim a little lower when the man brought an abrupt arm up to shield his eyes. "There are too many people out there."

"Leave them to me," the girl said firmly.

Trip's eyebrows lifted in an innocent expression. "Ya gonna offer them a drink?" he wondered.

"Very funny," Malcolm muttered. "Except they wouldn't be so sodding careless as to accept it."

"I wasn't _careless_. I was _distracted_. There's a difference."

"You shouldn't have let yourself _be_ _distracted_.

Malcolm silently cursed. Why in the bloody hell did he keep getting drawn into this conversation? But Trip, of course, wouldn't leave it at that.

"I told you, I forgot myself!" he retorted.

Once again, their bickering was interrupted by Doiné, who grabbed Malcolm's hand – the one holding the torch – and turned it roughly towards herself, the better for them to see her fuming expression.

"Stop it, now," she ordered, and all of a sudden there was no doubt she had grown up with a General as father. "You two sound just like children!"

A stunned silence fell.

"Do as I say and everything will be fine," she continued more calmly, though her voice still commanded obedience. She eyed Malcolm's phase pistol. "Is that weapon set to stun?"

"Yes," Malcolm stuttered, shocked by the sudden change in her. He spared Trip a glance, and the Engineer didn't look any less stunned.

"Good. I wouldn't want you to hurt anybody. Hold it up, then, and stand right behind me."

Before anything else could be said, she flung the door open. The two soldiers stationed near the Shuttlepod turned abruptly, weapons trained ahead; but Doiné froze them with a scream.

"Don't shoot!" she shouted, raising her hands over her head. "They have me hostage!"

Malcolm felt her press backwards against his pistol, and exchanged a panicky look with Trip.

"She got us," the Engineer muttered. "We'd better play along."

There was no time to argue. Malcolm swallowed. "I suggest you don't try anything," he shouted, pushing Doiné slightly forward. "My phase pistol is set to kill and I won't hesitate to use it."

The two soldiers had been joined by others now, but all promptly lowered their weapons.

Malcolm grabbed one of the girl's arms and twisted it behind her with a bit too much force. The sudden pull made her straighten her back, and he mumbled a contrite 'sorry' into her hair.

"Stand back, don't try anything, he means it," Doiné begged, in a quivering voice that would have fooled anybody.

They crossed the few meters to the pod as a compact group.

"That is despicable," one of the soldiers, the one who looked to be in command, spat out. "Using a woman as a shield!"

Malcolm's mouth twitched as he repressed a grimace. He couldn't believe he was doing this. "Hurry," he pressed Trip, who was fumbling with the hatch. Finally the damn thing opened.

"Throw your weapons away," Malcolm ordered the on-looking group. "Lie down on your bellies, hands over your heads,"

"Sounds like you've been doin' this all your life," Trip threw him, as he jumped inside the pod.

Malcolm bit back a very insubordinate reply. "Good-bye, Miss," he muttered to the girl, releasing her arm. Eager to keep up appearances, he was about to give her a shove when she screamed, "Don't, don't! I'll do whatever you say!" With that, she jumped inside the pod too.

"Don't you dare touch a hair on her head," the soldier from before threatened, from his uncomfortable position on the ground. "The Governor will chase you to the end of the galaxy!"

_God forbid_. Cursing to himself, Malcolm wasted no time in boarding the vessel as well, and slammed the hatch closed. The low rumble of the engine was already coming on, much to his relief. A few moments later they were lifting off.

"Wow," Doiné exclaimed, voice bright with excitement. "My father never allowed me on an interstellar vehicle!"

From the helm, Trip cast a worried look over his shoulder. "Oh, swell! What's the punishment for abducting the Governor's daughter?" But the girl didn't hear him; she had her nose glued to a porthole. "Can't be much more horrible than disembowelment," Trip added with a shrug.

"There are more painful deaths than that, believe me," Malcolm groaned as he took position at navigation. He briefly acknowledged Trip's odd look, before turning to the girl. "Why on earth did you do that?" he protested. "Didn't we have enough problems already? Now your father will really want our skins."

Doiné finally detached herself from the view, long enough to scowl at him. "Ah, because you think you could fly away unhindered as you're doing now if I weren't on board, huh?"

Malcolm pursed his lips. The girl had a point. He checked his instruments: it really looked like they would make it away unscathed; he could detect no power build-ups on the planet, no weapons being charged. Apparently their 'hostage' was too precious to be shot upon.

"Shuttlepod Two to Enterprise," Trip paged, as soon as they began to leave the atmosphere.

"Trip," Archer's voice came back immediately. "You made it? Malcolm found you?"

"Actually, I think _I_ found _him_, but I doubt he'll agree to that version of the facts," Trip said, much to Malcolm's annoyance. "Anyway, we're comin' home."

"Good," Archer exhaled. "Any problems?"

"Ah, well…" Trip winced. "I trust the transporter is working properly, right?"

"Yes, we used it yesterday, after the Shuttlepod was impounded," Archer replied in puzzlement. "Don't you remember?"

Trip exchanged a glance with Malcolm, as if looking for support.

The Captain's voice came back, noticeably more wary. "Why are you asking?"

Trip passed a hand through his hair. "We have a… _guest_ on board," he said. "She'll need to be transported back."

"_She_? A guest? You don't mean a _hostage_, do you?" The concern in Archer's voice was now quite clear. "Malcolm?"

"Sir, I've carried out my orders," Malcolm replied a little coldly – what else did Archer want from him? "I'm bringing the Commander back safe and sound, _and_ the Shuttlepod. However, I strongly advise you to have someone stand by in the transporter room, and to get Engineering to warm up the nacelles. I doubt we'll want to remain in orbit for long, after we dock."

"Oh, our planet is so beautiful from up here!" Doiné exclaimed just then, lost in her admiration of the view and oblivious to what was going on around her. "Can't you take me for a ride on your ship? Pl-ease?"

"Oh, heavens," was the breathed out comment of said ship's Commanding Officer.

One more chapter to go. Please leave a small review? :-)


	4. Chapter 4

This is the final chapter to this short story. Thank you all for reviewing.

If the person who emailed me about archiving my stories on her website is reading this: I wanted to check out your site and reply from the country, but somehow lost your email... can you send it again? Thanks!

§ 4 §

"Captain, I will explain everything in my report," Malcolm forestalled, as soon as Archer's eyes met his, as he climbed out of the pod behind Doiné.

"I don't know if I can bear to read it," Archer said deadpan. His gaze shifted back to the person who wasn't part of his crew. Doiné was taking in her surroundings with the same wonderment of a small child who sees something for the first time.

"This is so incredible," she exclaimed, reaching the platform on which Archer and T'Pol stood waiting. "I am very happy to see you again, Captain."

Archer cleared his throat. "Yes, well: I'm afraid I cannot say the same," he replied with a deceptively polite smile. He swept a hand. "This way. I am sure you will find the transporter room quite interesting too."

"Oh, please, can't you give me a little ride first?"

"Maybe another time."

Their voices got fainter as they moved away. Malcolm let out a slow breath, pinching the bridge of his nose. All that adrenaline had left him tired. Beside him, T'Pol latched her hands behind her back.

"The warp engine is already online," she informed, raising reproving eyebrows to Trip. "As soon as Commander Tucker's latest… ladyfriend has beamed down, Enterprise can break orbit."

"Come on, T'Pol," Trip said, blue eyes rueful. "Don't you ever make a mistake?"

"It appears that when aesthetically pleasing aliens of the opposite gender are concerned you are considerably more prone to making them," the Vulcan commented.

Trip rolled his eyes and, without another word, started along the corridor too. T'Pol followed him and Malcolm brought up the rear.

* * *

When they got to the transporter room, Doiné was already in position on the platform.

"Commander," she said, running off it. She stopped in front of Trip, the picture of regret. "Forgive me?"

"Not your fault," Trip replied with one of his winning grins. "At least, not _totally_ your fault," he amended.

Doiné put a hand on Trip's arm, but Archer took her by the shoulders and veered her back onto the transporter pad.

"Say hello to the Governor," he said, placing her in position. Then he turned impatiently to the man at the controls. "Ensign, would you energize?"

He had that fake smile still frozen on his face, which – Malcolm was sure – didn't bode too well.

Doiné wiggled the fingers of one hand in an unobtrusive good-bye, and gradually disappeared, along with Archer's grin.

"Mister Mayweather, break orbit and go to warp four," the Captain immediately ordered through the comm. link on the wall. Then he turned to Trip and Malcolm. "My ready room, gentlemen."

* * *

Malcolm finished his verbal report and stood at attention. He knew he ought to look straight ahead, but his eyes kept straying to Archer, who was pacing the small confines, ducking with regular precision under the lower beams in the ceiling; the Captain had listened in silence, jaw set in a determined expression.

Seconds ticked by and the silence grew heavy.

"Capt'n, I'm sorry," Trip broke out, shifting uncomfortably on his feet.

Breaking his rigid stance for a moment, Malcolm dared a look at the Engineer, and his former irritation towards him melted somewhat at the sight of his friend's obvious unease.

"Sorry." Archer snorted. He stopped and zoned in on Trip. "Did Lieutenant Reed not advise us – _all_ of us – not to drink the local wine?" he formally enquired.

"Well, yeah," Trip admitted reluctantly. "He _had_ said somethin' about it, but--"

"And didn't Subcommander T'Pol warn us – _all_ of us – that Candian society is inflexibly military, and based on the rigid observance of the law?" Archer continued undaunted.

Malcolm's eyes again strayed imperceptibly to his friend. Trip's Adam's apple bobbed up and down.

"Come on, Capt'n," the Engineer said with a wince. "It was warm… I only followed that girl out on the terrace; she offered me a glass and I distractedly drank a sip…"

"A _sip_?" Archer repeated. He took an aggressive step towards Trip, who bit his lip and straightened his shoulders, which had sagged.

"Alright, a sip too many," the man admitted. "I… forgot."

"You forgot." Archer gave a low chuckle, which did nothing to ease the tension in the room. "Getting pregnant, that time, apparently hasn't taught you anything."

Trip rolled his eyes.

"I've done a bit of research, while I was waiting to see if I had to report your death by disembowelment, Commander," Archer added. "And I found out that no one else in Starfleet was ever arrested with the same charges."

He resumed his pacing. "I commend you on carrying out your mission, Lieutenant," he said en passant to Malcolm, on the next length. Stopping abruptly, he narrowed his eyes and peered at his face.

Malcolm cringed. He was undoubtedly far from impeccable. Also, there was something that needed to be said, and he'd better do so before the words got pushed back by his smug ego. "Thank you, Sir, but without the girl's help we would have probably both ended up behind bars again."

"That would have been just great," Archer muttered. He stretched his neck, raising himself to his full height. "If I report this incident to Starfleet Command, I wonder what they'll do to you."

"Capt'n, please," Trip pleaded, fretting.

"Sir," Malcolm suggested tentatively. "Far be it from me to tell you what to do, but… Candia's laws _are_ a bit strict. I mean… death by disembowelment for..."

"Speeding while 'drunk 'n piloting?" Archer finished for him, lifting sceptical eyebrows. To Trip he added, "You could have at least told us you felt tipsy, I would have piloted myself."

"I didn't feel tipsy," Trip complained.

"Allergic reaction to an alien substance in… the food?" Malcolm suggested. He couldn't help feeling bad for Trip now that the danger had passed. "It's almost the truth, after all."

Archer looked at them impassively for a beat; then let out a sigh, his rigid mask crumbling. "You'll be the death of me," he groaned to his Chief Engineer.

"Thank you, Capt'n," Trip let out, visibly relieved. His blue eyes softened. "I owe you one."

"Don't be so sure: I'm grounding you for two months."

"_Two_ _months_?"

"Dismissed, both of you." Archer said deadpan. "Oh, and – Trip? I think the plasma conduits need scrubbing."

Trip turned to give his CO a grimace of acceptance. "Aye, Sir."

* * *

"Thanks for giving me a hand in there, Lieutenant," Trip said, when the turbo-lift door had closed.

A smile tugged at the corners of Malcolm's mouth. "I only did it so that you owed me one, Sir. Would you come by the Armoury tomorrow, say, in the late morning, after you have finished with the plasma conduits?"

"Alright, alright," Trip chuckled.

Malcolm crossed his arms in front of his chest. "By the way, didn't you forget to tell me something?" he enquired. A sudden thought had crossed his mind.

"What?"

"Down on the planet, you said you knew something important, which you would tell me later."

Trip blinked. "I don't recall sayin' it was _important_. I only said I knew something you didn't."

"Well, what was it?" Malcolm insisted.

"It was nothing important," Trip said dismissively, scratching his forehead.

Malcolm was already starting to regret helping this man. "Commander," he growled threateningly.

The lift stopped and the door opened. Trip's eyes tracked to Malcolm's chin, much as Archer's had, a few moments before. "You missed a spot when you shaved this morning, Lieutenant."

With that he shot Malcolm a warm smile and exited.

"Tomorrow, eighteen-hundred, in the gym, Commander," Malcolm called darkly after him, when he found his voice again. "Come prepared."

THE END

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